


Of A Herald And Her Shield

by Maulindath



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Attempt at Realism, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, I Don't Even Know, Multi, Novelization, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, attempts at worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:08:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maulindath/pseuds/Maulindath
Summary: Evelyn had been a Templar, a daughter, a sister, and a best friend. She had been a betrayer of the Order she had sworn her life to. She was a survivor, a fighter, someone who strove to see the best in people. And now, they called the Herald of Andraste. A sacred mark on her hand, and the weight of more lives than she could ever hope to count on her shoulders. All because she had hoped for peace.Maud was an Orlesian turned Avaar barbarian, an apostate turned Circle Mage turned apostate once more, a daughter of the Storm turned bst friend to a Templar. She had fought and bled for a chance to be free, for a chance to feel useful and loved. And now they had deemed her the Herald's Shield. The Mage sent by Andraste to protect her Templar Chosen, the living proof that peace and change were possible. All because she had believed in peace.Well, alright then. If they wanted them for Herald and Shield, they would have them. And they would show them. Show them that Templars and Mages were not the enemies the Chantry had crafted them to be.
Relationships: Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Female Trevelyan, Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi/Lace Harding, Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s), Dagna/Sera (Dragon Age), Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Kudos: 1





	1. Of Breaches and the women falling through them

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language.
> 
> I have somewhat of an idea as to where I'm going with this, and hopefully I will not mess up too badly during my playthrough. I'd hate to die in Haven and have to write Corypheus' victory. 
> 
> This is technically a repost, though I have reworked the entire prologue.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes was no more and people feared. Only a few minutes before, they had been life as usual, laughing, working, drinking. Before a sound like nothing ever heard before tore the world apart.

A dwarf had been sitting by his tent, trying to avoid a woman and to listen to the stories of the people around him all at once. Playing with cards and drinking ale, worried for his friends yet secure in the knowledge that they were safe and far away.

A dark haired woman had been running through drills, her training dummy looking more and more battered by the minute. Hair short, crown-like braid circling her head, each move fluid and filled with power. Her stern face made sterner by her scars, her eyes dark and steely, fully immersed in her task.

A red haired woman, her face lost in the shadows of her hood, had been silently praying, hoping for a peaceful resolution to the conflict and for the mages to be allowed to live rather than merely survive. Face sweet and girlishly pretty, eyes clear and cold, so full of secrets they became a bottomless lake. A raven perched on her work table, his red eyes trained on his mistress.

A blond man had been training his troops, trying to turn these farmers and stablehands into soldiers, or at the very least into people able to survive should the Inquisition come to be required, shoud they need to fight. His features drawn, his frame made even more imposing by the fur of his mantle. Hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he bellowed instructions and corrected stances.

A woman with skin like bronze and hair like ebony had been perusing deeds and contracts and family lines, trying to figure out how best to approach each and every party able to procure gold and food and ressources to them while wondering whether such things would even be needed. Surely the Divine could not fail in her task.

Somewhere, an apostate had been walking, eyes wandering the sky, ears listening to the sounds of the mountains. The sound of his staff hitting the ground the only thing breaking the silence with which he moved. His movements liquid and confident, his frame strangely tall and strong for an elf.

Farther, farther.

A bearded man in the Hinterlands, chopping wood while trying to ignore the sounds of the fighting surrounding him, the little cabin by the lake an island of peace.

A Qunary mercenary, roaring and laughing with his men, celebrating another victory and the money that came with it, his eye wandering the tavern, registering everyone, everything, even while he enjoyed myself. 

Another man, twirling his moustache, eyes lost in his book, glass of wine and chilled peeled grapes by his side, elegant and confident. A twitch occasionally running through him, his serene composure broken and restored in the span of seconds.

A blond elf, laughing as she waxed a floor, dressed as a servant. Her eyes registering the placement of every decoration, gauging their value. Smiling as she left the estate, key to the servant’s entrance weighing her pocket down, thinking of the way the master of the house’s own pockets would be lighter in only a matter of hours.

A dark-skinned woman, bent over books and potions and expensive ingredients, working feverishly to find a remedy. Her composure unbroken, only the minute frown upon her face to show the depth of her worry. Her vulnerability hidden behind mask and pride and political acumen.

A blond boy wearing an absurd hat, wandering around, listening to the people surrounding him, never noticed. Moving sometimes, to help carry a heavy charge, to help avoid some obstacle or another. Smiling whenever someone smiled or laughed. A whisper lost in the wind. _I help._

Closer, now. Closer than ever.

Two women, running from their lives. One dragging the other along, frantic whispers and pleas escaping them. Short blonde hair, tall frame, skin turned golden and sunspotted by hours spent training outside. Strong arms, strong legs, strong face. Stern lines and classical features, pleasantly arranged. Light gray eyes framed by a ring of slate. A twitching hand, that almost seemed to twitch and spark. Features drawn with fear and pain and resolve. _Come on, we have to get out of here !_  
Thick, long brown hair having long escaped the confine of their braid. Small frame, rounded face, curves and dips and flowing lines seemingly devoid of any sharp angles. Almond shaped eyes, slightly too big for the face they were set in, brown and bronze and burnished gold, owlish in size, dazed with pain. Neck covered in blood and burns, the shape of a hand clearly visible, encircling it. Vein-like, branch-like scars, strangely delicate as they climbed along limbs and skin, white on milk. Soundless whimpers from behind clenched lips, stumbling steps, determination clear in the pinch of chapped lips. _I’m not dying yet. I refuse to die._

The sound of spiders, crawling behind, following, pursuing the stumbling intruders. Fear growing in their prey, pushing them to move faster and faster, stumbling as they fled. Their hunters uncaring, secure in the victory to come. Prey had entered their territory and prey would fall before them.

A woman, shining so bright as to be blinding, looking over them, holding out her hand. Two desperate hands extending towards her, reaching out, desperate, hopeful. Help freely given and accepted, three women united in their resolve, their will to escape their nightmare.

Green light sparking between them, tearing the world apart. A scream of agonized pain. 

Two women stumbling from a rift, surrounded by the green light of the Fade, unconscious bodies laying among the ashes of the deceased. A hand sparking and throbbing, a neck burning and bleeding sluggishly, almost but not quite cauterized. Approaching soldiers, wary, angry. Duty overtaking rage, stilling their swords before they could strike.

**

Eyes fluttered open, pained sigh escaping clenched teeth. Brow furrowing, trying to remember even as she registered her surroundings. A cell, damp and cold, dark and gloomy. Her hands in mage-grade restraints, the familiar hair of her friend in the corner of her eye, soldiers surrounding them, hands on their swords, ready to strike. She blinked, registering the similar restraints around her friend’s wrists. Evelyn was a Templar. Why put her in such restraints ? And why was her very much not magical hand glowing and spitting sparks the way her own did when she decided to use her magic yet felt like her staff was too far away ? And by the Lady, why was breathing so painful, her neck tense and drawn and unmoving as if layers upon layers of bandages had been wrapped round it, strangling her slowly ?

Maud shifted then froze, sound warning her of a drawn blade. Survival taking over as she prayed to the gods, the ancestors and the spirits for protection. Alarm growing within her as she watched Evelyn slowly wake and gasp in pain, curling herself around her hand. The words refused to come as she tried to call to her, stuck somewhere below her throat like so many sharp rocks. 

The door to the cell opened, weak light attempting to flood in as two women entered. They radiated anger as clearly as the taller one shout it, threatening. >Tell me why we should not kill you. What had they done, to deserve such loathing ? She could not recall. Her questions remained stuck beneath her tongue, strangling her, as she felt the panic grow and her magic try to escape. Close eyes, breathe, forcefully shove the storm down, swear to it to let it grow strong and wild and untamed later if it lets itself be caged for now. 

Evelyn, pained and horrified, as she tried to explain, to understand. The tall woman’s anger, barely banked by the calm of the hooded one. Had she had her voice, Maud would have asked whether they had planned the interaction, designed it so as to gain the most insight and cooperation. As she lacked a voice, the question remained unasked. Unlike her, Evelyn had never quite managed to lose her trust in people. She believed them good first and foremost, and dealt with the disappointment when it came. 

Maud tried to read their scars and wounds first, and only then to pay attention to their intentions. The hurt and the fear made people easier to comprehend, made their actions easier to anticipate. She enjoyed finding goodness in them, and failed to be disappointed when they showed themselves petty and ridiculous. At least she could say she had rarely met true cruelty. Maybe that was why Evelyn still carried that naivete. Because of the way she had been sheltered, by her noble family first, by the Templars second. She had met her first monster only when the Circle fell.

Maud had met hers when she was only a child, Despair rising high above her, chilling her to the bone, Desire giggling by his side, wicked and beautiful.

Strong hands pushed her up, movement jolting her neck and sending agony through her nerves. Maud felt herself tear up as she stumbled after the... after Cassandra, bound hands hovering before finally managing to grasp her attention and starting to flutter near her neck. Her mouth moved, lips forming the question which she could not speak. She did not dare to force the words out. Not yet.

The Seeker’s eyes softened, barely. A trace of pity in them.

«You have been badly burnt. The Healer said it seemed as if someone had tried to tear your throat apart with their nails while fire streamed from their hand. The burn kept you from bleeding out, but the scarring is... extensive. It is unlikely you will ever manage to talk normally again, though you still have your voice. If the Breach does not kill us all first.»

«What is the Breach ?»

Evelyn. Her raspy voice echoing the question that had been forming on her lips.

«It... will be easier to show you.»

They stepped outside, and Maud felt her world shift once more. There was a gaping hole in the sky, a bleeding would torn in the Lady’s skin. She felt the scream bubbling up her throat, protesting, denying what her eyes saw. Sparks escaped from her fingers, storm wanting to fight the horror that she could not tear her eyes from.

And still she was silent. Eyes big and angry and tearful as she gazed at the maw in the sky.

Where the Veil had been torn apart and reality turned upside down.

Unnatural.


	2. Of Demons and Wild Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm now juggling two playthroughs, as I had a hard time figuring out Evelyn without playing her. This chapter took some reworking, but hopefully will be fine. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome !

The Frostbacks had been home, once, harsh and cold as they were. Maud still remembered the first real snow she had seen, little girl fresh from Val Royeaux, holding on to her father’s hand for dear life as she watched the pale grey sky with wide eyes, shocked by how low it was, how close it felt. She had been sure she was about to get crushed under it. It had been so alien to her, the language foreign, the people far too tall, the only thing that she could relate to the paleness of their skin. Hers had been just as pale. Still was. If anything, the years spent in the Circle had managed to make her even paler. Snow-skinned, they would deem her now. 

She remembered her last snow just as fiercely, only a young adult, father long gone back to Orlais, leaving her behind at her request. He had brought them here to commerce and to protect her; she had become one of theirs. Their paths had never been meant to stay one and the same, though they still wrote to each other. A lowlander’s habit, one of the few she had never shed. Reading, being small, speaking Orlesian, hesitant and accented as it was, occasionally swearing by Andraste and the Maker... they had marked her as foreign even after sixteen years among them. She had chosen to go and explore the lowlands as a way to prove to herself that she belonged. 

She had gotten herself caught by Templars instead and tossed in a tower by the sea, surrounded by the fracas of Ostwick and the waves. What a way to go... At least she got to meet Evelyn.

And still Maud was finding that she remembered more that she thought, as her feet easily found traction on snow and ice and she relearned the bite of the cold. She felt sure of herself, of her body, as they moved along the Penitent Path. She could feel the looks of the Seeker and the mounting frustration of Evelyn as her friend slipped once more of a frozen patch of rock. But she refused to be ashamed of her ease. There was nothing suspicious to it, not once someone managed to hear her accent, tinged with traces of Orlesian even after all these years (so what if she dropped her r ? It was a useless letter anyway !) and Free Marcher’s rumbling yet undeniably Avaarian. There was a rhythm to the speech that she had never lost. She had always likened it to a talking song, fierce and yearning and strong.

Had it not been for the running soldiers and scouts, out of their minds with terror, and the pulses that kept on sending Evelyn to her knees with pained grunts and groans, she might have smiled. Instead she kept on picking her up and sending soothing magic through her, praying for it to be enough. It was unfair. Evelyn had not even attempted to question the Seeker as she had told them of what she thought the Mark could do. She had heard the word Help and jumped on it, already determined to do anything in her power to seal the Breach. Maud had been the one forced to cough her doubts and fears, to force her need to be sure that the Mark could truly help though her ruined throat. The Seeker had been right; she still had a voice, but if the pain never lessened, she might have to become mute simply out of self preservation. The simple phrases had been agony. The suspicious glance had not helped. By the Lady, were all Seekers so paranoid ? So convinced of themselves ? Evelyn’s impulsive agreement had gotten her an almost-smile, and Maud’s concern had gotten her a glare. As if she did not know the consequences of playing with things one did not understand. It was all Mages did, was it not ? Lowlanders mages, at least. Playing with blood magic and cutting themselves from the Fade and the Gods. _Imbec..._

The ground fell, burning rock striking the bridge. Maud felt herself open her mouth in a silent scream as she hit the broken stones, pain bright across her back and ribs. Evelyn was climbing gingerly to her feet, weight carefully kept from her right leg, while the Seeker seemed to have avoided getting hurt altogether, finding her footing first, hand already moving towards her sword and shield as she readied herself and watched the ground bubble.

The aura hit first. Slimy and wrong as the bubble became a Shade ready to strike. The Seeker was quick to engage, shouting at them and the demon both to stay back. Maud had not expected her to be so graceful. She lunged much like a predator lunged at prey, all sleek economy of movement. So different from the way Evelyn fought, all strong hits and little movement, letting the weight of her war-hammer do the job for her. 

Now, Evelyn was wielding a great-sword fallen along with them, battling yet another Shade, and Maud was without a staff. Not powerless though. Never powerless (Don’t think of it, don’t think of it, cloying and choking and...).

Feet shifted apart, hands splaying, fingers stretched out as much as she could. Every mage could do magic without a focus, but every mage, Circle trained or not, knew it was an exercise in balance. A Winter Mage could easily lose themselves in the cold and succumb to it. Tempest Mages were well known for the fiery devastation they left behind when their magic overwhelmed them. Spirit Mages became shells, their minds trapped behind the Veil their magic was naturally attuned to. 

Storm Mages died, the electricity they used ricocheting along their nerves until brain and lungs and heart seized. 

Eyes fixated on the approaching Shade, Maud started calling upon her Storm, magic flickering to life between her fingers, nudged until it became a constant current. On and on it grew, until she let it arch away to strike the Demon, stopping it in its tracks and allowing Evelyn to cleave it. Her chest heaved, palms burning, the smell of burnt flesh feeling her nostrils. That was the other price to pay, the burns and the scars. Without a focus, the natural resistance to his element a mage had lessened. 

People feared when they saw a mage with a staff. And yet, staves made mages safer. It helped channel the magic, helped lessen its impact, helped to isolate its wielder from it. Magic without a staff was Wild Magic, shaped and controlled only through a mage’s will. It was how magic first manifested, a magic without a spell, able to manifest even while under a Silence. It fought and raged and consumed, hostile and hungry. It was destruction given form.

It was what she had unleashed at the Shade. There had been no hope for the Demon, and she prayed she never had to direct towards a living being. Wild magic was terrifying and exhilarating. It would be too easy to lost herself in it, no matter the price. 

«Drop your weapons !»

Hands automatically splayed out, face falling in dismay, and she could hear Evelyn’s snort of amusement as she carefully placed her great-sword down. Even the Seeker seemed reluctantly amused as she watched her hands lower and oh so carefully shift to her sides, fingers playing with the too long sleeves of her coat. At least their compliance seemed to have won the Seeker over as the woman gave the great-sword back to Evelyn before turning to her.

«I am hesitant to ask this, but should there be any other attacks... Do you feel confident in your ability to protect yourself without a staff ? We might be able to find one at the forward camp, but the odds of us acquiring one before are quite low. I have heard that wild magic can be exhausting and it would not do to have you passing out on us.» 

«You’d trust me with my magic ?» Whispering. Whispering was almost but not quite painless, if a whisper could be an exhale of breath that formed barely audible words. Still. In the post-battle quiet, it worked. 

«You had the opportunity to attack me and did not. And I don’t believe you would abandon your friend. I believe I can trust you to try and protect you both. Maybe even myself, at least until the Breach is closed. But that might be the battle talking.»

«Battle trust is a powerful thing. We accept. Maud and I will do what we must in order to reach the Breach alive and whole.» Such a noble. Evelyn was born to lead, and it shone through in her agreement.

A nod. A smile. The Seeker looked beautiful rather than handsome when her face softened. Her features were strong, but the light smile playing on her lips made the fact that she lacked Evelyn’s boyishness apparent. Evelyn had an ambiguous kind of beauty, pale golden skin splattered with freckles and sunspots, slanted gray eyes that went from the palest shade near the pupil to an almost black bordering the iris,dirty blonde hair, forever cropped and messy, falling into straight, strong brows. She was a tall, strong frame without much breasts or hips, a pale plump mouth and rough hands. Since leaving Ostwick, they had laughed more than once at hearing people stumble on their tongues, switching from Sir to Miss mid-sentence, when they were not doing the opposite. The low, raspy voice did not help, not with the way she loved making go even lower, become even rougher. Evelyn might like being a woman, and see herself as such, but she loved fucking with people’s heads even more (Maud approved. After the Circle, they needed all the fun they could get).

The Seeker, on the other hand, would never been able to pass as anything but a woman. 

On and on they walked, more demons falling from the Breach like so many insults to snowfalls only to be paralyzed by lightning strikes and cut to pieces by the warriors. They had found a semblance of teamwork and rhythm by now, making the fights shorter. Corpses littered the way, purses quickly snatched, pockets and useful equipment looted. Even the Seeker joined in. Getting hurt because one was too proud to wear a dead’s man helmet was shameful. War always took its toll, no point in paying it more than once.

Walk, fight, loot. Maud’s hands were burning, electrical burns covering her palms and forearms, snow occasionally rubbed into them as an attempt to lessen the pain. Climb, dodge, move again. Sounds of fighting were growing closer, the Mage following Seeker and Templar as they rushed to help the group fighting demons by a rift. Lightning struck where she directed, mind floating, the only thoughts left those needed to shape and control the magic. Only her will left to guide her, the rest gone away so as to make more space for it. There was a vague awareness of the rift snapping closed as Evelyn’s hand was raised, voices registered though not understood, cool magic soothing her hands and a lyrium potion pressed to her lips, swallowed by reflex. 

«I was not aware that Circle Mages understood enough about Wild Magic to use it in such a way. Though, Seeker, I would suggest having your mage refrain from using it moving forward. Rare are the mages who can freely call upon such a magic and not succumb to its price.» Low voice, calm and serene. The monotony of it felt restful.

«Pretty sure I saw a staff around. Tall stick with an ugly stone on top ? Yeah, definitely a staff.» Bright voice, cheerful and roughly accented. Like a heavy woolen blanket, scratchy yet comforting.

Elf. Dwarf. Bald elf mage who had partially healed her hands and helped her come back to herself, apostate from how he talked about Circle Mages, knowledgeable. Maud sent him a nod, respectful yet wary. She would be the first to admit that apostates were either strong and able to practice Magics long since forgotten by the Circles or strong and unruly, likely to end up as abominations. He was clearly part of the first category, someone from whom she could learn even more about magic but someone she could never fully trust. Apostasy always had a price, and she did not know what his would be. Bare-chested dwarf with a broken nose and the prettiest crossbow she had ever seen. Evelyn must be itching to get her hands on it, weapon fanatic that she was.

The dwarf got a smile as a staff was pressed into her hand, warmth hinting at a Tempest-aligned focus. Not the best, but it would be better than wild magic, and allow her to finally cast Barriers again. She had missed being able to, missed knowing that she could protect Evelyn in return for the way she was protected by her. She could finally act as her shield once more, and for that she was grateful to the dwarf. She just wished she had been able to catch his name, as well as the elf’s.


End file.
